


hush, hush

by prowlish



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Quiet Sex, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-14
Updated: 2014-10-14
Packaged: 2018-02-21 04:16:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2454413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prowlish/pseuds/prowlish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wing still has many things to teach Drift.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hush, hush

**Author's Note:**

> Haaaa god another thing I'm just going to lob quickly onto the internet because I'm sick of looking at it.
> 
> I love this ship but I've never written it before, I've never written Wing before in my life, but here I am. I hope it's somewhat enjoyable. |Db

Had Wing been facing the other way, he’d have found the expression of utter concentration on Drift’s face absolutely _precious_. As it was, his back was turned, but he was no less aware of Drift’s approach. Wing had taken a small bit of pity in the Decepticon’s frustrations with their fighting and sparring, and clued him in that he was being far too noisy. Or as his exact words might have been: he could fight Drift with his optics offlined and still win because his every movement was so loud. To Wing’s audios, anyway.

 

Wing smiled. Drift was obviously trying, bless him. His steps were careful spaced out, not _quite_ as heavy. But still, a clumsy attempt. Yet on he waited, optics shuttered, until he could hear Drift’s ventilation cycles whirring close. Another of many giveaways. Someone hadn’t been paying attention in meditation, either!

 

He _felt_ Drift reach out, and just as quickly had Drift’s arm in a vice and rolled them both until his impromptu student was pinned. The shocked blue optics that stared up at him gave Wing a hearty laugh.

 

“Still too loud,” he purred. The shock on the ‘Con’s face turned to a scowl. Funny how Wing had begun to view that snarling look as endearing.

 

“How was that too loud?” Drift demanded, no less fierce for being pinned to the ground.

 

Wing hummed. “Your steps are too heavy. And I could hear your ventilation systems for parsecs.”

 

Drift growled again, bucking beneath Wing’s impossible grip. “You’re intolerable!” He squirmed again. “Let me up!”

 

Wing chucked, but he did relent. A little. He sat up, at least, and let Drift’s arm’s free, though he still straddled the speedster’s middle. “You know,” he said, “if you put all this energy you have for cursing me into practicing your gait, you’d maybe have surprised me by now.”

 

Drift snarled again, pushing himself off the floor and shoving Wing away. “This is all scrap. Ain’t nothing to do with fighting, anyway.”

 

At this, Wing snatched Drift up by his collar struts, though despite the action, his attitude was sheer serenity. He considered Drift for a moment, helpless once more in his grasp. “I’ve continuously demonstrated that it does,” he replied. “You simply throw a tantrum when it doesn’t go your way. But Drift, anything worth learning takes all of this effort.” He tutted.

 

Slowly, as he spoke Wing pulled them into a side chamber, a smile that was more _devious_ than the slow pulse of his energy beginning to curl his lips. “If you weren’t so thick-helmed, you might end up somewhere other than flat on you back,” Wing murmured, pinning Drift’s back to the near wall as though in emphasis. Drift huffed, offended, and struggled against Wing’s hold. Until the jet leaned in and kissed him, clearly enjoying the confused rumble of the grounder’s engine until he started to return the affection. Wing purred against his lips happily. “Or maybe you simply haven’t had the right motivation.”

 

Wing heard Drift swallow and grinned, enjoying that Drift’s squirming had become something more like anticipation. Those motions only increased as Wing tilted his helm to nip and suckle at his neck cables. “Wing -- ”

 

Wing smiled briefly against Drift’s neck and simply shushed him. Bright blue optics blazed down at him. “Quiet. Remember?”

 

Drift growled, but he rolled his helm back with a sigh. Gathering strength, as it were. How precious. He _did_ go quiet, however, and Wing set his lips back to Drift’s neck cables, nipping teasingly, before moving down. A tease of denta at collar fairing, a flick of glossa against chestplates, as he slowly went to his knees and finally let his mouth trail enticingly over Drift’s pelvic plating. He heard a hot gasp above him and felt excitement rush through his own circuits. The only thing more fun than an angry, snarly drift was a Drift giving way to pleasure. Wing lipped and teased at the manual release for Drift’s spike panel -- but only a tease. As always, he wanted everything to be under Drift’s own power. The fact that Drift thought he was odd for such a thing brought Wing a terrible bit of distress… but right now he was simply focused on the task at hand.

 

Or at lips, it seemed. Wing let out a veritable trill of delight when Drift retracted the panel and let his spike start to extend. He peered up Drift’s frame as he teased his fingers over the pressurizing length, drinking in the sight of the fierce mech shivering into the wall, his optics feverishly bright as his lips parted to aid his lightly panting vents. Drift also didn’t believe his sincerity when Wing told him how gorgeous he was, and what a shame that was.

 

Lifting a finger to his lips in a shushing motion, as though reminding Drift what the object of this was, Wing focused his gaze on the spike standing to attention in front of his face with another of his smiles. He shifted his hands to hold on to Drift’s hips and leaned in, trailing his glossa over every single ridge of its length, enjoying the taste and texture equally as much as the tremor that went through Drift’s plating. Wing watched Drift closely as he circled his glossa around the spike’s head before suckling at it lightly -- it was probably a sin how gleeful he was to see the flicker of Drift’s optics and the denta biting his lower lip to no doubt keep some noise back.

 

Ah, but enough teasing. Pinning Drift’s hips to the wall behind him, Wing instantly took more of Drift’s spike into his mouth, predictably making him arch and squirm against the wall. The quiver of his plating became more pronounced, and -- Primus, was he actually covering his mouth with a hand?

 

For a fearsome Decepticon, Drift was awfully _adorable._

 

But to his credit, even as Wing began sucking his spike in earnest, pulling every single tease and trick with his lips and glossa, Drift managed to remain quiet, but for his labored ventilations. There was always room for improvement, after all. Wing might have chuckled at the thought, except he was far too busy with his mouth at the moment.

 

By now, Wing was more than familiar with the signs of Drift close to overload; a few deeper shivers, and the mech’s knees going weak. Wing shifted his grip slightly, supporting Drift’s weight and keeping him pinned to the wall. Encouraged, the jet swallowed Drift’s spike to the base, throat cables constricting around its head. A heady gasp from above him, muffled around those fingers, and Wing felt another tremor, and when he gave that treatment a few more times --

 

Drift came undone, bowing over Wing’s helm as he overloaded with a soft moan, hands bracing himself on the jet’s shoulders. Wing didn’t pull back from his spike until he’d swallowed every last bit of transfluid, his turbines thrumming happily. Slowly, he raised himself to his pedes, lifting Drift and cradling him against the wall, and kissed him with a bright smile -- but his optics were all wickedness. “It’s a start,” he murmured into Drift’s audio.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> visit me on [@prowlish](https://twitter.com/prowlish) on twitter!! :)


End file.
